


eating one up

by badtast3



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (Telltale Video Game)
Genre: Amputation Kink, Dubious Consent, Kinda, M/M, Oneshot, Porn With Plot, dirty deeds done in the dirty bathroom floor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-23 05:07:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23372791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badtast3/pseuds/badtast3
Summary: danny gets down on his knees at the end of the towel, quiet while he carefully unwraps the rigid dressing. He throws it behind him after he’s done, and the smell alone is enough to make mark squirm.unsurprisingly, danny seems to be enjoying himself; watching with sick fascination when the residual limb twitches. he reaches over and grabs elastic wrap out of the basket, taking it out of the packaging and beginning to work on wrapping the stumps back up. the tightness of the wrap makes him arch his back off the floor in mind numbing pain.“oh god.. just wait a minute, won’t you?” mark groans out, panting heavily.“i can help with that pain, you know.” danny divulges.
Relationships: Mark (Walking Dead: Starved For Help)/Danny St. John
Kudos: 6





	eating one up

**Author's Note:**

> i've stayed up until the deep hours of the AM for the last week writing this garbage. enjoy this abomination to god and man.

The smell of blood was overpowering, but not enough to drown out the pain, both factors enough to pull what little contents Mark had in his stomach to his throat. He blinked, opening his heavy, bleary eyes and turned his head side to side to see just where he was, but without his glasses seemed to be pointless. Porcelain enameled steel greeted his too-hot cheek, and with that, he realized he was in a bathtub. He grasped onto the side of the tub, ready to pull himself up into a sitting position when the low, southern drawl of another man in the room made him freeze.

“You had me scared there for a minute, I thought you’d never wake up.”

Mark dragged his eyes up from the blood-stained bathroom tile to the stranger sitting on the toilet seat to his left. Squinting, he could barely make out who it was. 

Danny St. John.

He remembered, suddenly, the St. John brothers coming to the motel, bringing him and Lee back to their farm, and the bandit attack that left an arrow in his shoulder all came back to him. The excruciating pain wasn’t coming from his shoulder, though. Instead, it burned through his waist, down to the tips of his toes, making it impossible to even wiggle them.

“Danny..? What.. Where am I?” Mark coughed out, speaking barely above a whisper in fear of vomiting. 

Leaning his rifle against the wall next to the door, Danny stood up and made his way over to the bathtub, crouching down. He pulled a pair of glasses out of his breast pocket, sliding them onto Mark’s face. 

“You’re safe, Mark. Momma patched you up real good, don’t you worry now.” Danny spoke softly, running a hand through Mark’s hair, stopping at the base of his neck to cup the back of his head, lifting him up. 

“Take a look for yourself, hon.” Too tired to question Danny’s lack of personal space, Mark turned his gaze ahead of him. 

The sight alone threatened to knock him back unconscious. 

His long legs were amputated, all the way up to where his boxers just barely met the blood soaked rigid dressing covering his residual limbs. Now the causalgia made sense. He couldn’t hold back a sob, and with it came unstoppable tears.

“Oh, don’t cry, Mark.” Danny hushed quietly, using his free hand to pick a clean washcloth out of the bucket of tools sitting by the bathtub, lifting Mark’s glasses to wipe away his tears. “You’ll be saving your little group.” 

“What the fuck are.. you talking about?” Mark choked out, reaching shaky hands down to touch the dressing, soaking his fingers in blood in the process. The small contact shot a bolt of pain through his very core, knocking his head back against the wall with a groan. “Holy.. I’m going to puke..” 

Pulling his hand out from underneath Mark’s head, Danny dropped the cloth back into the bucket and grabbed for the trashcan next to the toilet. It was filled with old, bloody bandages, but without another alternative, he handed it to Mark, who had already pulled himself up. He takes the trashcan, and as soon as he got it under him, vomited. Having not ate for the last couple of days, it was nothing but stomach acid that burned his throat, tearing another sob from him. 

Danny chuckled, picking the rag back up and wiping the spit from the man’s chin. He was shaking like a leaf which, really, was to be expected. In an act of mock affection, he rubs Mark’s back, gently shushing him. “You’re gonna be alright, now.”

Mark shoves the trashcan in his face, too sick to properly push him away. “Get the fuck away from me,” He halfheartedly spits out, not about to admit that the other's uncharacteristic affection comforting in some sick way. Surprisingly, Danny takes the trashcan from his hands and sets it down next to the tub, standing up and leaving the bathroom without another word.

Making sure he’s left, Mark watches him leave before gently leaning his head against the wall. He futilely attempts to get his muscle spasming under control, yet phantom limb refuses to let him forget what has happened. Now alone, he lets himself cry unconditionally, lifting his glasses up to sit on his head so he can push the palms of his hands against his eyes. The coldness of his hands makes him wonder just how long he has to suffer before blood loss kills him. 

The sound of heavy footsteps snaps him out of his thoughts, and upon pulling his hands away from his face, he sees that Danny has returned with two towels and a basket. Putting his glasses back on, he watches as the other sets the basket down on the toilet seat, shoves one towel under his arm, and lays the other one down on the floor, moving it around with his boot to soak up the blood. He kicks the soiled towel to the corner of the bathroom and takes the clean one out from under his arm, spreading it out on the cleaned floor.

“What are you doing?” Mark feebly asks, not sure if he’s ready for the answer.

“Why, I think it’s about time to get that wrap changed, don’t you?” Danny answers, walking over to the tub. His smile sends chills down Mark’s back, but he sits still as the other man’s arms slide under his back and just below his rear, scooping him up out of the tub with ease. He turns around and lays Mark down on the sprawled out towel gently, hands lingering just a second too long on his ass, which he tries not to think too much into. The pain is still excruciating, and just the small movement of being picked up forces a whimper out of him. 

Danny gets down on his knees at the end of the towel, quiet while he carefully unwraps the rigid dressing. He throws it behind him after he’s done, and the smell alone is enough to make Mark squirm. Unsurprisingly, Danny seems to be enjoying himself; watching with sick fascination when the residual limb twitches. He reaches over and grabs elastic wrap out of the basket, taking it out of the packaging and beginning to work on wrapping the stumps back up. The tightness of the wrap makes him arch his back off the floor in mind numbing pain. “Oh god.. Just wait a minute, won’t you?” Mark groans out, panting heavily.

“I can help with that pain, you know.” Danny divulges, smirking up at him.

Before he has time to question just what he meant by that, Danny sets the elastic wrap to the side and unbuttons Mark’s bloody shirt, pushing it to the side to reveal the man’s obscenely skinny stomach. He licks his way up his body, stopping just below his collarbone, and leans over imposingly, unabashedly looking him in the eye. Mark shudders, the warmth of the other’s tongue feeling both impossibly good and exceptionally revolting, which tears another whimper out of him.

Taking this as encouragement to continue, Danny leans back down and pulls Mark’s earlobe between his teeth. “I can make you feel like heaven, sugar. All you gotta do is sit still.” he whispers seductively before nipping his way down his neck. 

“You’re sick.” Mark groans out, but otherwise remains compliant to the other’s ministrations, partly in fear, partly in sick fascination. Danny slides down his body and slips his thumbs underneath the waistband of Mark’s bloody boxers, pulling them down slowly. He stops just underneath his balls, and calloused hands move to seize his hips, thumbs rubbing the sharp hip bone. The hot breath against his sensitive head is the only warning he gets before Danny swallows him down to the hilt, throat twitching at the sudden intrusion, and Mark can only moan and grip the towel underneath him at the overwhelming sensation. It’s clear that the other has done this before, and the thought alone does nothing but rile him up more. 

Feeling eyes on him, Mark twists his head to the side and looks down at Danny, making direct eye contact that sends chills down his spine. He starts to bob up and down on his dick, and the obscenely wet, smacking sound of it echoes throughout the small bathroom. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and Mark can’t help but buck his hips. The grip on his hips tighten, keeping them pinned to the floor, but Danny speeds up regardless. 

“I’m not gonna last long.” Mark moans out, and the way the other man’s tongue wraps around his shaft in response makes him want to reach out and touch him in some way, but ultimately decides against it, biting his fist instead. Danny hollows his cheeks, and with a few more bobs of his head, Mark cums with a muffled shout. Never the one to waste, he swallows his seed diligently, pulling off only after he’s sucked dry. 

“My, even though you ain’t ate in days, you still taste mighty fine.” Danny licks his lips, patting him on the flank as he sits up. Mark only stares up at the ceiling, mulling over what just went down, earning him a slap across the thigh. “Answer me when I’m talking to you.” Danny warns. Just as Mark opens his mouth, the shrill voice of Brenda cuts through the silence. 

“Hey Danny, honey, can you come on downstairs and give your ol’ momma a hand in the kitchen?” She calls from downstairs. Muttering a curse, Danny pulls Mark’s boxers back up, haphazardly re-buttons his shirt, and stands. He collects the basket from the toilet and goes to the door, mumbling, “I’ll be back,” before leaving. The sound of the bookcase scraping against the floor brings an uneasy feeling of dread and loneliness, and deep down, Mark knows that he won’t be back.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos & comments make my day <3


End file.
